The Sub Nazi
by Elwin Ransom
Summary: In this se/prequel, Art Vandelay and Co. wander around Manaan aimlessly, hoping to find a way to defy the infamous Roland Wann and get to the surface of Manaan. Along the way, Art is poisoned, Canderous confesses, and Darth Bandon fails at life.


Author's Notes: All right, so my other, giant story has been getting somewhat depressing, so in order to keep myself sane I wrote this short one shot parody thing, similar to that other one about the Rakatan box, for those of you who are interested. It's the same characters, although Bastila is less of a straight arrow in this one than she was in the first one. So, yeah--here's more of the Seinfeldian Kotor chronicles.

**The Sub Nazi**

Two of the _Ebon Hawk_'s crew stood in the ubiquitous chrome hallways of Manaan. They had been dealing with one of the local Selkath shopkeepers, having just haggled their price down on a very malicious kind of product.

"Do you think this is enough poison?" asked Bastila Shan, a strikingly beautiful, steel gray eyed Jedi wearing formfitting brown robes that effectively tormented all of the men who saw her in them.

"Oh yeah," responded Canderous Ordo, an imposing warrior-esque man, with a sort of sadistic glee. "The little gizka bastards will be all cleaned out by tomorrow."

Bastila was a little sad that they were going to exterminate all of the gizka, but they really had no choice. "Okay then, and let's make sure everyone stays out of the _Hawk_ the whole time, we can't go in while it's being fumigated," she responded.

"Do we have to tell Carth about it?" Canderous asked.

"_Yes_," Bastila responded.

At that instant, they were joined by several more of their compatriots; a paranoid Republic commander named Carth and their woefully inept leader, Art Vandelay.

"All _right_," said Art with the sort of stoked excitement reminiscent of a college frat boy. "Check it out! Limited time offer—they have Tarisian Ale here!" He pointed at a sign advertising the ale over a nearby bar. "Do you think we have time to stop there?" he asked.

"I don't think so," answered Bastila, "we have to keep going with our mission."

"Yes, we have to save the Republic!" Carth interjected.

"Is that all you ever think about?" Canderous asked.

"Of course! The Republic is good and pure! And everything else is evil, especially you, Manderous!" Carth dictated eloquently.

Canderous rolled his eyes, said, "Good one—like I haven't heard that a hundred times before."

"_Enough_," said Bastila. "We're going now, is that okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," they all said in obedient unison.

--

"You're shmoopy!" said Art.

"No, you're shmoopy!" Bastila responded.

"Oh my God!" Canderous exploded, "do you have to do that in _public_?! Everyone can _see _us! Can you imagine what all the other mercenaries would think if they saw me with you? While you're doing this?"

"Shut up, Candalore!" Art retorted.

"Heard that before, too, genius," stated the Mandalorian. "I mean," he continued, "it's fine if you two want to fondle each other, but not when I'm around. I'm too goddamn manly for this to unfold in my presence."

"I'm sorry," Bastila began apologetically, "but it was the pet name that was all the time in this wonderful romance novel by my favorite author, Dr. Martin Van Nostrand. Revan and I both read it."

"Revan?" Canderous asked, although he seemed a little bit affected by the fact that Bastila would read such a book.

"_Revan!?_" Carth exploded. "You read a romance novel with Revan?! That makes you evil, too! You hate the Republic, have betrayed me, and murdered my wife!"

"I think she means me," Art stated innocently.

Canderous squinted and looked at Bastila warily, asked, "Why did you call Art Revan?"

Bastila seemed to shrink down to about half of her size while this conversation was going on. Her eyes darted back and forth as she looked for something, anything that could help her. "Uh, I didn't mean to say that. It's just that I've been under a lot of stress lately and I was having dreams about Revan and…" she coughed and pointed, "Oh my! What's that over there!"

"Where?!" Carth and Art asked simultaneously.

"Why…I think it's an injustice!" Bastila suggested.

"Let's stop it!" Carth said heroically. He and Art marched off in the direction that Bastila had indicated.

Canderous stayed behind and just stared at Bastila, his eyes narrowed to slits as he was thinking. There was the sound of a scuffle in the distance, but he spoke over it. He asked, "The Jedi Council caught Revan and reprogrammed his identity with Art's in order to save the galaxy, didn't they?"

"Yes," Bastila admitted sheepishly, "please don't tell him."

Canderous sighed, "Only the Republic is this damn stupid. I can't believe we lost to…" he looked towards Art and Carth who were standing triumphantly over the bruised body of some other person, "…them."

"Let's go help them out," Bastila advised.

--

"You beat up this kid?!" Bastila asked. In front of her was the shivering figure of a junior high boy, crouched in a corner. Art and Carth were standing next to her.

"He's a Sith kid!" Carth said in justification.

"How do you know that?" Canderous asked.

"He stole another kid's lunch money—only Sith do that."

"Right," responded the Mandalorian.

Bastila held her hand out to heal the boy; she also raided his mind with the Force. "This never happened," she said. The boy nodded and ran off. "Come on," Bastila began, "we have to find a way to the bottom of the sea. We should talk to Roland Wann."

--

The group journeyed a while, running into several random Sith soldiers before arriving at the Republic Embassy. Before they got inside, however, Bastila stopped them.

"Whoa! Wow!" she said, "Look at this!" She gestured to a piece of furniture that a large Aqualish was selling outside of the Embassy. "Do you know what this is? This is an antique armoire, wow! It's a French armoire!"

"What's the big deal?" Canderous asked.

She looked at the Aqualish, "How much is this?"

He responded, "I was asking 250, but you got a nice face. Two even."

"Hah, you know," she said aloud, "I've always wanted one of these. It would go great in the port dorms of the _Ebon Hawk_."

"He gave you the nice face discount," replied Carth.

"Yeah, all right," she said, "you guys go on ahead."

"What about the Embassy?" asked Canderous.

"I'm getting this armoire," she stated.

Carth stayed behind with her as Art and Canderous went on ahead.

Inside they beheld an unfortunate sight. "This line is huge," said Art. The line of hapless people waiting to see the Republic Diplomat was indeed long—it would likely take a while to get in.

"Hey," began Canderous, "isn't that that Griff guy?" He gestured behind them several yards towards a distinctly sniveling Twi'lek.

Art's face fell like a house of cards, he said, "Oh no, it is. Just be still—he might leave."

Unfortunately for both of them, Griff caught sight of them. "Hey!" he said, running up to them, "Art! I didn't know you like talking to diplomats!"

"Hard to believe…"

Griff continued, "This guy has the best submarines on the planet. The best! You know what they call him?" His eyes shifted back and forth before he said, "The Sub Nazi!"

"Shhh!" cautioned Art. "All right—Griff—I'm not letting you cut in line."

"What, why not?!"

"Because if he catches us he'll throw us out."

"But if you let me cut I'll succeed in my get-rich-quick scheme and you'll make millions!"

"No," both Art and Canderous said in unison.

"Fine!" he said, storming off.

The line then kept moving, albeit slowly. Eventually, the two men got to the front.

Roland Wann was notoriously fickle about everything. He demanded perfection from his employees and from the people who wandered into the open embassy. Anything less, and he refused to give them help—or rides in the submarines. He stood behind his desk, not moving much. At his left, a cold, intimidating woman was dealing with the customers.

Art approached him cautiously, said, "We want to find a Star Map."

Roland regarded him through squinted eyes. "So do a lot of people."

"Can we ride in a sub?"

"If you bring me the Sith codes," replied Roland. He then handed Art a key to the back of the Sith base.

"How do we do that?" asked Art.

Roland squinted even more, "Figure it out."

"No advice?" Art asked.

"Just forget it, let it go," Canderous suggested hurriedly.

"Excuse me," Art began, "I didn't get any advice."

Roland replied very arrogantly, "Advice—two credits."

"But everyone else got free advice!" Art pleaded.

The diplomat smirked a very hateful and angry smirk, said, "You want advice?"

"Yes, please," answered Art.

"_Three credits!_"

"What?"

"No sub for you!" Roland said, snapping his fingers. Instantly, the frightening woman snatched the key out of Art's hand, leaving him with nothing. "_Next!_" bellowed Roland.

Art turned around and began strolling out of the embassy, completely defeated.

Outside, they found Bastila, who had just finished dealing with the furniture salesman and had completed the sale. She looked at them somewhat oddly before saying, "What happened?"

"We didn't get a sub," Art answered dejectedly.

"Because you so brazenly flaunted the rules!" Canderous accused. "You can't go in there and do that and think anything else would happen."

"What rules?" Bastila asked.

Carth answered for them, said, "There are a certain set of rules that you have to follow to get Roland to do anything for you. He hates to have them broken."

Bastila just started laughing, said, "Okay, I'll go in there and talk to him. I'll show you how it's done. Carth, can you watch the armoire for me?"

"No, wait," Carth said, "you don't know how to order!"

"Hey," she said with a confident smirk, "I got it." With that, she ventured inside.

Art turned and looked at the other two men, said, "I gotta go rest or something. That Sub Nazi frightened me." He then took off as well, leaving only Carth and Canderous standing in front of the armoire. The two men just looked at each other awkwardly for a moment, trying to think of a way to destroy the inhibiting silence. They realized that they were nothing like each other, and so had little common ground to discuss…except for one thing.

"Hey, let me ask you something," Canderous began, "do you find it unbearable to be around Art and Bastila?"

"Oh, I know!" Carth said, swaying a little bit with horror as he did so. "It is awful!"

"Why do they have to do that in front of people?" Canderous asked.

Carth continued: "What is with the shmoopy? The shmoopy, shmoopy, shmoopy, shmoopy, shmoopy!"

"God—stop it, I'm getting sick again."

"Sorry," Carth replied. "But I had to listen to a five minute discussion once on which one is actually called shmoopy."

"Yeah—well, I'm gonna split, too. No use standing around in front of a piece of furniture all day. I'll see you around."

"What?" Carth asked. "You can't leave me here!"

"You? A famous war hero?" Canderous asked. "You can guard this armoire by yourself right?"

"I—uh…"

"Good," said the Mandalorian, "I'm outta here."

Left alone, Carth sulked towards the wall next to the armoire and leaned against it unhappily, waiting for Bastila to come back.

--

Inside, Bastila had slowly made her way to the front of the line—determined to show up her fellow crewmembers. Once she got there, she strode up to Roland confidently. "Hi there," she said loudly. She then started tapping her hands on his desk as he watched, seething with anger. She glanced up and said, "Hey, wow, you know what? Has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like Al Pacino?"

He just glared at her.

"You know?" she continued, "Scent of a Woman?" She then made her accented voice very gruff and coughed an impression: "Hoo-ah!"

"Very good, very good," said Roland with a grin.

"Well, I've always been a big fan—especially The Godfather, Part II." Another impression, this one with feeling: "You broke my heart, Fredo. You broke my heart."

"Hey," said Roland, "you know what?"

"Hmm?"

"No sub for you!"

Bastila reeled backwards about a foot from shock. She ventured slowly, "…what?"

"Come back one year! Next!"

--

Outside, Carth was not paying much attention to the armoire, but two effeminate Sith thugs had begun to take an interest in it.

"Oh…look at this!" one of them said.

"It's an antique!" the second responded with a distinct accent.

The first one ran his palm over it and said happily, "It's all hand made and I just love the in-lay."

"Yes, yes. Me too, Ray. Aye, it's gorgeous!" He kissed his fingers and blew them outward after in some kind of physical symbol of amazement at the armoire. He continued, "Completely. Pick it up," he paused, "No. no. Pick it up from the bottom over there."

Carth suddenly realized what was going on, he leapt from his perch and said, "Wait, wait, wait, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like we are doing?" responded the second thug with a clear attitude. "We are takin' this armoire."

"You can't take this," Carth informed them, "it belongs to a friend of mine."

"Look," said the second one, a much more intimidating man the other, "you wanna get hurt?"

"Huh?" Carth grunted, not comprehending.

The Sith pointed at him aggressively, said, "I don't think you wanna get hurt. Because if you wanna get hurt, I can hurt you. Now, back off."

"Bob…" said the other Sith condescendingly.

"Just pick it up, Ray."

"What is this?!" Carth asked hopelessly.

Bob then dropped the armoire and took two large steps towards Carth and began tapping him on his chest. He said, "You have some kind of problem here? What is it you not understanding? We taking this armoire and that's all there is to it, okay?"

Carth immediately retreated. The two thugs lifted up the armoire by the bottom of it and carried it away. Onasi just walked helplessly in two little circles, defeated and emasculated, and then sat down where the armoire had been.

Almost immediately after the two thugs had disappeared, Bastila walked sullenly out of the Embassy and towards Carth. She had a large frown on her face, but it was soon replaced by a befuddled look of shock as she saw that the armoire was gone.

"What happened?" she asked, "where's my armoire?"

"Well b—it was stolen," answered the commander.

Bastila raised one eyebrow and looked at him quizzically, asked, "What?"

"Yeah, these street toughs, they robbed me."

"Street toughs took my armoire?" she asked, rather unbelieving.

"Yeah," answered Carth, "it was very frightening. My life was in danger, you should have seen the way they talked to me!"

"I can't believe this day," said Bastila.

"What about the sub?" Carth asked.

"He…uh…threw me out…" came the answer.

"Oh."

Bastila looked around hastily and then asked, "Where is Art? I need to ask him about what The Sub Nazi told him."

"I don't know," answered Carth. "He went that way," responded the commander, pointing.

Bastila sighed and then began her search for Art.

--

While wandering through the seemingly identical hallways of Ahto City, Bastila ran across, by pure luck, Canderous. He was heading the opposite direction. "Canderous," she asked, "do you know where Art is?"

"No idea," said Canderous. "Although I just saw Zaalbar. He was arm wrestling a Gammorean."

Bastila had to stop her train of thought and ask, "Who won?"

"Who do you think?" Canderous asked. "Go to the med clinic, you'll see."

"I need to find Art," she said, going back to her previous goal.

"I don't know where he is, but I could help you look."

"Okay, let's go opposite directions—we'll meet at the _Hawk _in two hours."

--

Two hours later, neither of them had found Art. They both met in front of the _Hawk _to discuss their mutual failures. They stood in front of the closed loading ramp, a sign plastered across it that said "FUMIGATION: DO NOT ENTER."

"I wonder if it actually is dangerous to go in there," Canderous wondered aloud.

Bastila was unconcerned, said, "I need to find Art, we have to figure out what to do about the Sub Nazi."

Suddenly, the _Ebon Hawk_'s loading ramp began to slowly descend. It dropped down dramatically, revealing the insides of the ship. Art Vandelay strode down it triumphantly.

"There he is," Canderous stated.

"Art!" exclaimed Bastila, "they're fumigating! There's toxic gas in there!"

Art's face instantly scrunched into a form of distorted horror: "_Toxic gas?!_"

"You'll be fine," Canderous said with assurance, "you were in there, what, ten, fifteen minutes?"

Art looked petrified, answered, "An hour and a half!" He started turning his head back and forth, unsure what to do. He muttered his reason, said, "I was reading this manuscript—I couldn't put it down!"

Suddenly Canderous's expression changed from one of indifference to something resembling fright. "What manuscript?"

"How do you feel?" Bastila interrupted.

"Now that you mention it…a little woozy."

"Didn't you see the sign?!" Bastila asked, indicating the giant skull and crossbones that bore the ominous words "DO NOT ENTER".

Art was just panting, said, "I thought you put that up so no one would walk in on us when we were in the cargo hold."

Bastila's face tinged an incredible shade of red. It would have been one of the more embarrassing moments of her life had Canderous been totally unconcerned. He asked again, "_What manuscript?!_"

Art shook his head, said, "I don't know—something by Martin Van Nostrand. It was an unfinished draft."

Bastila's mouth dropped, said, "What was a Van Nostrand manuscript doing in the _Hawk_?"

Art sat down, thinking that it might help him. He said, "I found it under Canderous's bunk."

"Under…Canderous?"

The Mandalorian threw his hands up, said, "I have no idea what he's talking about!"

"You couldn't have one of Nostrand's scripts unless…"

"It's not what it looks like!"

Bastila gasped, "_You're_ Dr. Van Nostrand, aren't you?!"

"I…no…I can explain."

"You've written all those lovely romance novels! Canderous—you're my favorite author! I never knew you had this sensitive side!"

"You can't tell anyone!" Canderous pleaded. "If the other Mandalorians knew that I wrote _Summer of Passion_ then I'd be ruined!"

"I won't," Bastila promised, now almost exploding in gleeful admiration of Canderous.

"Uh, I'm still here," said Art. "I can't believe this…Bastila, I had some milk, I made a sandwich…I gotta get out of here."

"You'll survive, shmoopy," said Bastila.

"Oh God…" Canderous sighed.

--

The small group eventually decided that Art would survive, so they left the _Hawk_, deciding that the only way to get back into Roland's good graces would be if they came up with the Sith codes for him. Canderous had overheard that there were several ways they could do this. There was a prisoner that needed to be interrogated, and if they could do so, they could get him to divulge the codes. Another method would be to go through the giant box of Sith PSPs that the Republic had apprehended. If they could solve the random mathematical problems that the portable gaming devices presented, then they would inexplicably be rewarded with codes. First, though, they all decided that they needed a drink—it had been a long day.

They wandered into the Manaan Bar that had been selling the Tarisian Ale. It was a limited time offer as with Taris's destruction, there was not much left. They had to get it while it was still available.

A round of drinks was ordered and Canderous, Bastila, and Art all sat next to each other at the bar. After a few sips of the stiff drink, Art exclaimed, "I can't taste this!"

"What are you talking about?" Canderous asked.

"Here," he grabbed Bastila's drink and tried hers. "This drink…it has no taste!" He tried Canderous's. "Nothing! I'm getting nothin'!" Suddenly his mouth dropped and he gasped, "It must be the toxic gas from the fumigation!" He stood up rapidly, nearly falling off of his stool, said, "I gotta get out of here! I need to go the med clinic!"

Canderous and Bastila stayed behind. They each drank several of the ales, getting a little bit tipsy as a result.

"So," Canderous slurred after a long gulp of the strong drink, "I told her I had to leave, you know, for me. It hurt…but I couldn't live like that, it was like a prison."

"I had…no idea, Manderoush," said Bastila. She was a lightweight, really, so she was far more hammered at this point than Canderous was.

"There comes a point, you know," he continued solemnly, "when you ask yourself: 'Is there something more to life?'"

"Yesh…" replied Bastila, "there ish."

Canderous downed another gulp, said, "Yeah, well, let me clue you in on something—there isn't."

The bartender, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation, now strolled up and stood next to them. He asked, "There isn't?"

"Absolutely not," answered Canderous, "I mean, what were you thinking about, Bastila? Marriage? Family?"

"I…don't know…I did…uh…not think that far…ahead. Art and I…kinda live in the preshent."

The bartender then asked, "What about them?"

"They're prisons! Man-made prisons—you're doing time!" Canderous looked at the bartender gravely, said, "You get up in the morning, she's there! You go to sleep at night, she's there! It's like you have to ask permission to use the bathroom." He then contorted his face and said in a high pitched voice, "_Is it all right if I use the bathroom now?!_"

"Wow…" said Bastila.

"And you can forget about watching TV when you're eating. Oh yeah," continued the philosophizing Canderous, "because it's dinner time. And do you know what you do at dinner?"

"What…?" asked Bastila.

"You talk about your day! '_How was your day today? Did you have a good day today or a bad day today? Well, what kind of day was it? Well, I don't know, how about you. HOW WAS YOUR DAY?!_"

"I'm glad we had thish talk," stuttered Bastila.

"Oh yeah, you have _no _idea!"

"You know this from experience?" asked the bartender.

"That is right," answered Canderous. "And that is what I try to capture in my books; the schizophrenic nature of love. And also…the falseness that people embrace in order to find happiness. Like with my first love, Mulva—she looked like the real thing, tasted like the real thing, but in the end she was just my fake plastic love."

"You're a geniush," said Bastila. She then passed out.

"Isn't that a song?" asked the bartender.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," replied Canderous grimly.

--

Art was sprinting through the halls of Ahto City, on the way to the nearest med clinic. He paid no attention to anyone who tried to stop him or speak to him. At one point Juhani crossed his path. She said in that weird, fake Russian accent of hers, "Art—I really need to talk to you about something, it's important."

"Out of my way!" bellowed Art. He put his arm in front of his body and clotheslined her, throwing the disturbed Jedi to the ground violently.

He followed up this performance by screaming his way through a crowd and eventually bursting through the doors to the med clinic. He ran past all of the patients. He knocked over one gurney that had a one-armed Gammorean on it.

Art sprinted through the chaos and accosted one of the doctors. He said, "Doctor! I can't taste anything!"

"Put some kolto on it," came the man's generic and automatic response.

"But I can't _taste!_ I was in a fumigated room! Am I going to die?!"

"Put some kolto on it," he said again.

Art paused for a second and thought to himself. He said, "Doctor! I've been shot six times in the face and my liver is dying from alcoholism!"

"Put some kolto on it."

"Whatever," said Art, "I'm not going to inject kolto into my tongue." He turned to find another doctor, but he had a different question for this one. He found a petit woman who was administering some kolto to a man who had apparently been struck by lightning, run over by a car, and quartered by horses all at the same time.

"All better!" she said.

"Thanks!" replied the man before leaping to his feet and running away.

"Doctor," began Art, "I need to find one of the Sith prisoners the Republic is holding—is he here?"

"The Republic has illegal Sith prisoners?" she asked.

Art furrowed his brow for a moment before answering. He said, "No."

"Oh, okay then. I was worried they were breaking the law."

Art then put his hand on his chin, then asked, "Suppose that, hypothetically, the Republic was illegally detaining Sith prisoners. Where would they be?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, "probably in the Republic Embassy."

"Thanks," said Art.

"No problem."

--

"And they just ran off with the armoire! Just like that!" said Carth.

"Oh, this city," said Roland Wann. "I can't believe the crime."

Carth was standing behind Roland Wann's desk, off to the side. He was still leveling his brand of sub-worthy justice upon the people in line, but he and Carth were good friends that had gone back years to when they were both in the same circ-de-sole troupe. Before Carth could continue, Darth Bandon strode up to speak to Roland. "One sub ride, please."

Roland appeased him, said to Carth, "So, continue."

"Well, my friend is awful disappointed, that is all. You know, she's very emotional."

"Thank you," said Bandon. He inhaled deeply before saying, "Yes, a sub ride!"

Roland turned to Carth and said, "All right, now listen to me. You have been a good friend. I have an armoire in my basement. If you want to pick it up, you're welcome to it. So take it, it's yours."

Carth was floored. He said, "How could I possibly thank you?"

Roland said seriously, "You are the only one who understands me."

"You suffer for your subs," Carth complimented him.

"That is right."

"You demand perfection from yourself, and your subs."

Roland's face brightened and he said loudly, "How can I tolerate any less from my customers?"

The next person strode up in line and said, "Uh, one sub, por favor."

Roldand's light demeanor fell and he looked upon the man angrily and asked, "_Por favor?_"

"Um…sorry, I'm part Spanish," replied the man, hoping to avoid the rage.

But he couldn't.

"Adios, muchacho!" yelled Roland.

--

Art Vandelay stood in front of the hapless Sith prisoner who had been apprehended and put inside a Force Cage. There were hundreds of people who had apparently tried to get him to divulge his secrets, but none had any success as of yet.

"What am I supposed to do?" Art asked a nearby Republic official.

"Interrogate him!" yelled the man with devious excitement.

"Okay, how do I do that?" Art asked.

"Any way you want," informed the official. "Just whatever you do, don't hit that ominously large red button."

"You mean this one?" Art said as he pressed the button.

"No!" exclaimed the official.

"You'll never break me!" screamed the prisoner. But before he could add on to his declaration, he was suddenly atomized into a million different pieces. Nothing was inside of the cage anymore.

"Oops," said Art.

"You blew him up!"

"Well, why is there a 'Blow Up the Prisoner' button?!" Art asked wisely.

"_There just IS!_" replied the man.

Art looked back and forth to see if anyone was watching and then said, "Put some kolto on it."

"Good idea."

"Uh…bye!" With that, Art took off and did not look back. He ran all the way back towards the bar he had left Bastila and Canderous in. Along the way, he got thirsty from all the physical exertion. He knew he could not taste, but he had to get something to drink. He stopped at a vending machine and grabbed a Gatorade. He hastily gulped down several chugs before suddenly realizing, "Ya—yes! Yes! It's back! I can taste again!" He turned and stopped a nearby passerby, asked, "Hey, is there any Tarisian Ale left at the bar?"

"I believe so."

"Yes, I can still make it!" He was about to take off, but stopped dead in his tracks. He squinted gravely and said with disgust at the man walking towards him, "Hello…_Bandon_."

"Hello…_Art_."

Both of these men hated each other, although Art could not technically remember why. Back when they were junior Sith at the Academy at Korriban, there had been a big race in gym class which Art had shockingly won. Bandon suspected he had had a head start and the two had hated each other ever since. Even though Art was not really Revan anymore, Bandon still hated him. And Art now hated him because he was annoying.

"What's that you have?" Art asked. "Is that some Tarisian Ale?"

"Sorry," said Bandon, "last one." He then laughed deviously.

"I hate you," said Art.

"You know," began Bandon, "I was talking to Darth Malak, and he mentioned something about you having a private chartered freighter that you can go anywhere with. Even Kashyyyk. Which is likely where you'll go next."

Art yawned, said, "Yeah, that's right."

"Well, I hear it's quite beautiful there this time of year," said Bandon, "and, as you know, I am one-quarter Wookiee."

"Really."

"Oh yes, in fact I still have family there," informed Bandon. "This probably won't interest you, but I have a cousin there who's suffering very badly. She's lost all use of her muscles. She can only communicate by blinking. I would so love to see her—bring a ray of sunshine into her tragic life. But alas, I can't afford it, for I am, as you know, but a simple Sith Lord."

"That's a shame," responded Art.

Bandon suddenly threw himself at Art's feet, grabbing his legs and begging, "Take me! Take me with you!"

"Oh forget it!" said Art. "Pull yourself together, you're making me sick! Be a man!"

Bandon stood up violently and wiped his mouth. He screamed evilly, "_All right!_" His eyes morphed into little, evil, beady dots and he started ranting, "But hear me and hear me well—the day will come. Oh yes, mark my words, Vandelay—your day of reckoning is coming!" He took a deep breath. "When an evil wind will blow through your little playworld, and wipe that smug smile off your face. And I'll be there, in all my glory, watching—_watching as it all comes crumbling down!_" He then turned and ran away with his hands waving in their air, laughing maniacally.

"Whatever," said Art. He then left and began making his way to the bar.

--

After Bastila had awoken from her alcohol-induced stupor, she found herself in the _Ebon Hawk_. Once she was conscious, however, Carth, who had put his hands over her eyes, blinded her.

"What are you doing?!" she asked, her head throbbing.

"Come over here," he said. He led her into the port dorms of the _Hawk _and said, "viola!" He then took his hands off of her face.

Bastila just gasped as she beheld an antique armoire sitting in the corner of the room.

"Yeah!" said Carth.

"Oh, I love it! I absolutely love it!"

"Yeah, did the C-Man, do it, or did the C-Man do it?"

"The C-Man did it!" Bastila answered. "How much did you pay for this thing?"

Carth answered smugly, "How about zero?"

"What? Who's was it? Where did you get it?" she asked, confused.

"I'll tell you where I got it. I got it from the man you so callously refer to as the Sub Nazi."

"No way!" she said incredulously, "the Sub Nazi gave this to you?!"

Carth shrugged, said, "Well, I just told him the whole story and he let me have it. He's a wonderful man. A little bit misunderstood, but…"

"Well, I'll just have to go down there and personally thank him! I mean, I had this guy all wrong. This is wonderful!"

--

Carth and Bastila made their way, once again, through the monotonous white halls of Ahto City until they ran across Art.

"Shmoopy!" said Bastila.

"Shmoopy!" responded Art.

Carth threw up in his mouth a little bit.

"We're going to talk to the Sub Nazi again," said Bastila. "I have to thank him for the armoire."

"Okay, I'll come too," said Art.

The group continued on their way. They arrived peacefully at the Embassy and they waited in line again to see Roland.

"How is he today?" someone asked aloud.

"I think he's in a good mood!" said Griff, who was still there.

Bastila strode up to Roland happily and said, "Hi," she smiled. "You know, Carth gave me the armoire and it is so beautiful. I mean, I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

Roland had previously regarded her with contempt, but now he exploded with anger. He yelled, "_You!?_" He almost gasped. "If I had known it was for you I would never have given it to him in the first place! I would have taken a hatched and smashed it to pieces!" Bastila was shell-shocked. Roland then screamed, "Now, who wants a sub? _Next!_"

Bastila hurried away, leaving a horrified Griff behind her.

She came towards Art and Carth, said, "He threw me out again. What do we do now?"

"I guess we have to solve the math problems."

"I guess so," Bastila sighed.

They made the short trek over to the computer center of the Republic Embassy and were met by a young sabermetrician who had just recently graduated from Princeton. He explained to them the rules, and said that each PSP they messed up would be ruined, but they had hundreds, so they didn't have to worry. Once they worked out the complex algorithm, then they would rewarded with Sith codes.

"How does that work? We just get the codes?" asked Art.

"We don't question it," said the young man.

Art began working through it. He and Bastila sat down, and Carth went to the other side of the room. Art held up the first one to Bastila and read, "2+2?"

"Hmm, that seems pretty easy," said Bastila.

"That's what they want us to think!" replied Art. "They want us to think it's four, but it's really five!"

"Are you such a dreamer?" Bastila asked whimsically, "to put the world to rights? I"ll stay home forever, where two and two always makes a five."

"Only the Sith could be this devious," Art answered.

"It's the devil's way now," said Carth from across the room.

"There is no way out," supplied the technician.

"Because…" said Art as he entered five into the PSP. But instead of being rewarded, suddenly the PSP exploded into a thousand different pieces, throwing shards of itself all over the place.

Bastila took a breath and said, "You have not been payin' attention!"

The exploded PSP then started emanating a strange cacophony of noise. Smashing distorted volumes that were seemingly on an unorthodox time signature. The chords rippled throughout the room as the others continued talking.

"Payin' attention!" said Carth.

"Payin' attention!" shouted the technician.

"Payin' attention?" asked Art.

"You have not been payin' attention!" yelled Roland from the other end of the embassy.

Carth stopped them, saying, "Damn, I love that song."

The rest nodded in agreement. Unfortunately, the process was repeated about one thousand times until they had exhausted every single PSP in the Embassy.

"That's it," said the technician. "I guess we just have to go home."

Everyone sighed and then left the room—one thousand broken PSPs on the ground.

--

Back at the _Hawk_, Bastila was roaming around the port dorms. She was preoccupied with their failure, but her sadness at that was offset by the armoire. The Sub Nazi may be a jerk, but at least she had the armoire from him.

Curious, she decided to open its drawers and look inside them. In the drawers, she found a bunch of hastily scribbled documents with signatures on them. Intrigued, she read them. After a few minutes, she gasped aloud and then called Art.

"What what?!" he asked hastily as he ran into the room.

"Look!" she said. "Look at these papers! Do you know what this is? The papers incriminate the Sub Nazi in the Republic cover up scheme on the Sunry murder trial!"

"The what?" Art asked.

"Oh, right, we haven't gotten Jolee yet. Well, if we had gone to Kashyyyk first we would have gotten this sidequest about a Republic cover up of a murder."

"Oh," he said, "so what?"

"So?" she asked with surprise, unhappy with Art's density, "So his secrets out. Don't you see? I could give these to every Sith in town. I could have 'em published! I could—I could drop fliers from the _Hawk_ above the city!" She excitedly snatched up all the papers and began to jog out of the room.

"Wait," Art asked. "What are you doing?"

"What do you care?"

Art gulped, said, "I don't want you causing any trouble down at that Embassy. I happen to love the Republic."

"Get out of my way, Art."

"Don't do it!"

"Don't make me hurt you, schmoopy," she said with acid.

"Fine, shmoopy, but let me go with you."

She conceded and they both left the room.

--

Carth and Canderous joined them as they made their way out. Juhani was hospitalized from Art's knockdown, and Mission and Zaalbar were exploring. Along the way, they were presented with an interesting image. An aloof man, standing all by himself, was eerily looking back and forth and wringing his hands, as if he shouldn't be there. Above his head was a translucent sign that read: "MYSTERIOUS MAN."

"Hey, that guy's nametag reads 'mysterious man'," said Art, "do you think we should talk to him?"

"I think we have to," said Carth. "With a name like that, he's obviously important."

Art agreed and then casually walked up to the man. He introduced himself, said, "Hi there—I'm Art. What intricate side-quest do you need us to do for you?"

The man began to talk, but much to everyone's dismay they could not hear him. His mouth was moving, but there was no sound. He seemed to be launching into a very detailed plea, but they could not hear.

Art, growing tired of "listening", said, "All right dude, sure, yep yep."

The man grinned happily and took off.

"What was that about?" asked Carth.

"I think he was one of those low talkers," said Canderous. "I can't stand them—they talk so quietly."

"I wonder what you agreed to," Bastila said aloud.

"I don't care," said Art. "Let's keep going."

They made the trek, once again, to the Embassy. This time, Bastila was ready for the Sub Nazi. As they approached the entrance, she stopped them and said, "All right, I'll handle this. You can wait here."

"I'm going to watch," said Canderous.

The two of them went inside, leaving Carth and Art outside. The two men began shooting the breeze, not really talking about anything, until Carth suddenly spotted something. In the distance were the two effeminate Sith thugs—they were window shopping across the street.

"Hey," said Carth, "those are the two thugs that mugged me for the armoire."

"Those two?" asked Art, rather confused. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, that's them."

"Well, let's confront them."

"No, no, no, no," said Carth worriedly. He looked around nervously and said, "Let's get a cop."

"Come on, there aren't any cops around. They're gonna leave."

They walked towards the two thugs, who were still looking in the window. "Oh, wow look, that one is gorgeous! I would just kill for that one," said the one named Bob.

"Oh, not in blue," said Ray, "blue does not go with it at all."

"Please," said Bob, "do you know what you're talking about? Because I don't think you know what you're talking about. Take a look at that."

Art cleared his throat to get their attention, said, "Excuse me."

"Are you talking to me?" asked Ray.

"Uh…well," said Art.

"Well," began Bob angrily, "maybe he was talking to me. Was you talking to him? Because you was obviously talking to one of us." He took a step forward and pointed aggressively, said, "So what is it? Who?! Who was you talking to?!"

"Um," said Carth with fright, "I think we were…talking to each other…right, Art?"

With that, both Art and Carth turned and fled into the safety of the Embassy. They were just in time to see Bastila's confrontation. Ahead of her a woman was running out, saying, "But I didn't do anything!"

"_Next!_" yelled Roland.

Bastila, her arms crossed and a haughty smirk on her face, walked up to his desk slowly. "_Hello_" she said somewhat seductively.

"You?!" exclaimed Roland. "You think you can get a sub? Please, you're wasting everyone's time!"

"I don't think you understand," said Bastila, "look what I have here. 'Sith planted a medallion on the scene…Republic spies successfully removed recorded evidence…'."

"That," gasped Roland, "those are the secret documents about the Sunry trial!"

"That's right," said Bastila, "I know all of it."

Roland was now diminishing in his intimidation, he pleaded, "What…what is it you want?"

"A ride to Hrackert Rift—now."

"Please…take it…take it and go!"

Bastila smiled and pulled the papers away form him, said, "You're finished, Sub Nazi. Pack it up. No sub for you!"

"Good job, shmoopy!" yelled Art. Fortunately, the entire place was thrown into panic so no one heard the embarrassing comment. Amidst the confusion, the group made their way through the crowd and into the back part of the Embassy—where Roland kept his subs. They opened the locked door and walked inside with an air of triumph about them. Much to their shock—and dismay—however, they found a familiar face at the dock.

It was the "MYSTERIOUS MAN." Next to him was a man with a sign that read: "OTHER GUY."

"What are you two doing here?" Art asked.

The mysterious man spoke, but, again, no one could understand him.

"Excuse me?" said Bastila.

Other Guy then spoke up. He said, "You're not going to believe what's been happening with Mysterious Man. You know, ever since you agreed to wear the Puffy Shirt down to Hrackert Rift, he's been getting all these orders from boutiques and department stores."

"Uh-huh," said Art. He froze suddenly and then tacked on, "Since I agreed to what?"

"Since you agreed to wear the puffy shirt to Hrackert Rift." Other Guy then took out the shirt from a black bag. It was probably the most ridiculous thing any of them had ever seen. It looked like a pirate shirt.

"I agreed to wear this?!" Art yelled.

"Yes!" said Other Guy.

"When did I do that?!"

"When you bumped into Mysterious Man in the hallways a little while ago."

Art's face dropped. "What?!" he said, "no! I didn't say anything! I couldn't even understand what he was saying!"

"Well, you agreed!"

Art was horrified. He said, "I can't wear this puffy shirt down there! I mean, look at it! It looks ridiculous!"

"Aye, it is!" replied Other Guy, "but you gotta wear it now! All these stores are stocking it on the condition that you wear it down to Hrackert Rift. New Jersey is already makin' them!"

"They're making these?!" Art asked, shocked.

Other Guy smiled, said, "Yes, yes. This pirate trend that he's come up with—Art, this is going to be a new look for the decade. You're going to be the first pirate!"

Art looked as though he were going to burst into tears, said, "But I don't wanna be a pirate!"

"Too late now, me matey!"

--

"I can't believe I have to wear this shirt," said Art as they rode the sub down to the Rift.

"Yeah—you pretty much look like an idiot," said Canderous.

"Poor shmoopy," said Bastila.

"_I hate this_," grunted Canderous.

--

As they disembarked from the sub, they found a mess at the Rift Station. Everything seemed to be in disarray. They walked around for a little bit and eventually opened one of the large doors. As it opened, they were presented with a lonely figure.

"They sent someone!" it screeched.

Art looked stupefied, said, "…Bryant Gumbel? From the Today Show in the 90s?"

"In the flesh," responded Bryant. "That is a very unusual shirt you have on."

"Oh…" said Art, "thank you."

Bryant started chuckling, "You're all kinda…" he waved his hands around, said, "You're all kinda puffed up."

"Yeah," said Art, "it's a puffy shirt."

He kept chuckling, "You look kinda like a pirate."

"Yeah…like a…" began Art, "anyway, you know, we're hoping to come down here and find a Star Map…"

"You know—look, I'm sorry. It's just a very unusual shirt. It could be kind of a whole new look for you. You could put a patch over an eye, you could be the…pirate Jedi!"

"Yeah…"

Bastila was holding her head in her hands, Canderous was cursing loudly, and Carth was chuckling to himself as well.

"You gonna be wearing the puffy shirt at the Map?"

Art exploded, "Look! It's not my shirt!"

"Then who's is it?" asked Bryant.

Art sighed, "What's the difference? I agreed to wear it. It's a puffy shirt. I feel ridiculous in it, and I feel that it's the stupidest shirt that I've ever seen to be perfectly honest with you."

"Heh," laughed Bryant, "you still look like a pirate."

"_All right!_" screamed Art, "that's it! You're going down, little man!"

Bryant's smug demeanor suddenly warped into one of terrible fright as Art unleashed a wave of the Force and catapulted him backwards. The analyst flew into the wall and smashed into the ground.

Carth ran over to him, checked his pulse, then said, "You killed him! You killed Bryant Gumbel!"

"Meh," said Art, "it's not that big of a deal. Didn't you see his NFL Network broadcasts? He was terrible! He called Tony Romo 'Rick Romo'!"

"Hmm," said Carth, "that is pretty bad."

"Damn Cowboys," said Canderous.

"What? You a 'Skins fan?"

"Eagles," came the curt reply.

"I'm sorry," said Art.

"Me too," responded Canderous.

"Hey—did you have DeSean Jackson on your fantasy team when he tossed the ball backwa—"

"Shut up about DeSean Jackson already!"

Bastila interrupted the conversation, said, "We have to keep going."

Canderous was informing the team of his woes for the duration of the trip through the Rift. He said, "I took Brady with my first pick. And it only took eight minutes for him to get knocked out for he season. It was terrible. But I scrambled and grabbed Marques Colston off of the waiver wire, and then he got hurt too! I tried to console myself by picking up Aaron Rodgers and Eddie Royal—but it just isn't working." He sighed.

"This is why I don't play fantasy football," Carth informed them.

They continued on until a shady figure confronted them. The man was hiding in the darkness and concealing his face. He stopped them immediately and began in a familiar voice, "Hello…_Art._"

"Hello…_Bandon._"

"I'm here to settle this once and for all!" he exclaimed happily. "Here we…_duel!_"

Art just smirked awkwardly, said, "There's four of us and one of you, how are we going to duel?"

Bandon started cackling evilly, "We must set this straight. I know you cheated in that race when we were sophomores at the Sith Academy! I know it! Now it is time to end it!"

"I did not cheat!" said Art. "Look, just because you can't accept that I beat you fair and square doesn't mean you have to join the Dark Side and go around hounding us like this for all eternity."

Bandon scoffed, said, "It most certainly does, you hare-brained imbecile!"

"I did not cheat! No head start!"

"I'm not convinced," said Bandon, "and I never will be!"

Bastila suggested, "Why don't the two of you just race again?"

"_That_," said Bandon, "is a good idea."

"No," said Art, "no, no, no, another race—out of the question."

"You've been saying that for twenty years because you know you can't beat me, foul demon! You could not beat me then, and you shall not beat me now! Not with the full power of the _Dark Side _behind me! And…Gatorade! I can now replenish my electrolytes!"

"What are electrolytes, anyway?" asked Carth.

"Who knows?!" said Bandon, "but they are in short supply! So, shall we rematch?!"

"Race him, schmoopy, race him!" said Bastila.

"_All right,_" said Art venomously.

It took them about twenty minutes to get everything set up. They drew two chalk lines at the opposite ends of the large hallway in order to set the boundaries. Bastila stood at the finish line, and Carth at the starting line. Canderous said he was fed up and wanted to leave—he would go get the sub, take off, and come back in a few hours.

Art and Bandon approached the starting line and knelt down in front it. Carth readied his blaster and held it in the air. "Ready, boys?" he asked.

"Yes, Onasi," both men said in unison.

Meanwhile, Canderous was struggling to activate the sub. He turned the ignition four times, but nothing happened. He got angry, punched the dashboard, and then tried a fifth time. It started, but he was greeted with a disturbingly loud backfire.

Carth raised his blaster, said, "Ready…" but before he could pull the trigger an explosion of noise came from the direction of the sub.

Art immediately took off, leaving Bandon wondering what had happened. Bandon, in waiting for the whole "set, go!" was left in the dust as Art had simply burst out of the gate at the first sound of an explosion. Bandon ran as hard as he could to catch up, his mouth hanging open and his tongue flapping in the wind, but it was to no avail. "Chariots of Fire" started playing in the background and Bandon had no hope, Art beat him again.

Downtrodden and defeated, Bandon lay down on the ground and did not move again. He said simply, "My whole life's work is worthless. You, enemy of all enemies, have triumphed over me! Leave me to wallow in my despair!"

Carth was jumping up and down excitedly and Bastila and Art embraced each other and began spinning in circles. Bastila said jovially, "Let's go find the Star Map, shmoopy!"

"Let's do it…shmoopy!"

"Good God in heaven!" shouted Carth in disgust.

And with that they left, found the Star Map, and somehow managed to get back to the surface.


End file.
